Not Your Kind of People
by BackgroundRobot-11
Summary: In the first days of the Galactic Empire, the former Mandalorian, Ambu Kelborn, meets up with current Mandalorian, Ijaat Skirata, and the two discuss Mandalorian philosophy.


Coruscant nightlife was something Kelborn distanced himself from. It was one thing to spend a night on the town back in his youth. Tonight, no. Kelborn was not enjoying himself. He was just trying to gather his thoughts together and think things through.

The Clone Wars had ended nearly a month ago. Many presumed it was time for another age of galactic peace. But no, Kelborn knew better. Death and destruction would continue still. It was inevitable.

His own son took part in such death and destruction. Poor Sanma, the youngest of his children, had joined with the Mandalorian Protectors during the war. They were brutes, the supposed "Protectors." They were wiped out by the end of the war, but the remnants still popped up every now and then. Sanma… Sanma was not one of them. He and that _witch_ who had drawn him into that life had both died at Norval. A surge of anger and grief hit him like a chunk of ferrocrete to the gut. In the end, the grief won out. As much as he wanted to blame the girl, or Fett, or Spar, he knew that the blame rested squarely on his own shoulders. If he hadn't left, Sanma would never have joined with the Mandalorian Protectors. He would still be alive.

And his grandchildren wouldn't be orphans. Force, how was he going to explain that to them when they got older? Kelborn felt his eyes grow hot, and he blinked back tears. He swallowed hard and shook his head, as if to knock those thoughts loose from his head.

And then there was that whole fiasco with the Jedi. _Shab_. Was this really what Fett had in mind with the Republic's clone army? Another purge? Genocide? Fett was more unstable and insane than Kelborn could have ever imagined. So many Jedi had been killed – no, not killed. Slaughtered. The initiates, the _children_ , among them. They didn't deserve it. And for what? For Fett's stupid, petty grudge? For something that was caused by his own arrogant pride? Anger swelled back into Kelborn, and he began to quiver with rage. If Fett hadn't already been killed, Kelborn would have gladly tracked him down and ended Fett himself.

Kelborn would have preferred a calm, private night to himself, hence why he sat himself in a dark corner of the bar, the booth dimly light by an overhanging light. All of the other patrons were thankfully occupied with loudly slurring conversations to bother a rough-looking, grizzled old man. Unfortunately, Kelborn had important business tonight that he could not put off.

Someone rattled their knuckles off Kelborn's table. He let his eyes fall on the purple-armored Mandalorian standing before him. Kelborn tilted his head to the seat across from him. His visitor raised two bottles of _Kri'gee_ before making himself comfortable. He set his helmet down, revealing his mismatched blue and green eyes and rough cheekbones. He and Kelborn's hairstyles were similar, both recently shaved and cut short, though the newcomer's hair was a deep obsidian while Kelborn's was white, thanks to his Arkanian heritage on his mother's side. The pair gave a silent toast before each taking a sip.

Bad blood still ran between Ambu Kelborn and Kal Skirata, yet here Kelborn was, sharing a cordial drink with Skirata's son, Ijaat Skirata.

"How is Clan Vencuyot?" Kelborn asked after their toast. He was no longer a Mandalorian – hadn't been for a long time – but he still heard some things, had some old friends and allies he still stayed in contact with. "It's to my understanding that they had to go into hiding during the war." Mercenary work in Kelborn's experience tended to paint mercenaries as prime targets for antagonized victims, and usually with good reason.

Ijaat shrugged, a motion so dismissive that Kelborn was reminded of his arguments with Kal Skirata on Kamino. "They're good now," Ijaat said, straight to the point, his voice vaguely hoarse. "Alive, well, and reasonably healthy. We had to deal with a psychotic cult that we thought we'd exterminated years ago. Fortunately, we finally finished the job."

Yes, Kelborn is quite glad to have distanced himself from the life of a soldier of fortune. He took another drink.

"How's Resvi?"

Kelborn planted his drink down firmly on the table, training his eyes harshly on Ijaat. The boy – really a man, but young enough for the aged and hardened Kelborn to call a boy – was known for his tendency to sleep around on whatever planet he happened to visit. Kelborn's daughter could love whoever she wanted to, but the last thing he wanted for her was to be coerced into becoming a Mandalorian like her brother. There was nothing but pain and misery and death down that path.

"I hear she's a freighter pilot nowadays and –"

"What my daughter does for a living is her own business," Kelborn cut him off. It was partly a lie, but that was beside the point. "Now, I realize that you organized this meeting not solely for a social visit. I know that you can play straight, but I deserve to at least know who hired you for this job of yours, and why."

Ijaat kept his stare steady, but Kelborn heard his feet shuffle. "I'm helping out my… _other_ sister. Ruusaan. I'm sure you've heard of her."

Yes, Kelborn has heard of her. She and a rebel insurgency were causing havoc on some Republic planet for months during the war. One of Kelborn's squads, Epsilon, was one of the three sent in to capture the insurgency's leaders, Ruusaan being one of their key members. When Epsilon had learned who she was, they had commed Kelborn and showed her to him. If they had expected him to take some kind of joy from it, they had been mistaken. His reaction was more one of shock and a kind of dismay.

"And pray tell why is Ruusaan Skirata so interested in the potential locations of MIA Republic Commandos?" Kelborn leaned forward, slowly. It wouldn't outright intimidate Ijaat, but it would ensure he knew Kelborn desired a clear answer. "I know that Kal Skirata had been looking for her, and I'm unfortunate to know the man well enough to be aware of his borderline psychotic obsession with family. You and I are too tired and too tried to _fierfek_ around each other, Ijaat. You are working for your father, aren't you?"

Ijaat shrugged noncommittally. "He's paying. You know me. I like pay."

"Really?" No, there was more to it, Kelborn knew. "Is Kal Skirata still _dar'buir_ to you, or has that man ensnared you back under his hold like so many other fools?" It still mystified him how so many people were drawn to Skirata. Impressionable young clones were one thing, but a damn captain of the Coruscant Security Force, and a former Senate Guard at that? Disgraceful.

Kelborn half-expected for Ijaat to snap back, to go on the defensive. However, all the boy did was shrug casually once more before drinking again. "Family's more than blood."

"Family is more than blood?" Kelborn scoffed and rolled his cup around, swishing the alcohol inside. "One of Mandalorians' signature phrases," he acknowledged, "but one that's used as an excuse to justify kidnapping children and raising them against their will in a life of violence and bloodshed."

"The phrase means more than raising kids," Ijaat counters, almost in a lecturing tone. "You have kids, right? Blood isn't an absolute necessity. It's a… let's say a good catalyst to form a good family. Thing is that not everyone adheres to blood being thicker than water. Mandalorians don't always have to be bound by blood to care for one another. People do right by you, you do right by them. Simple as that."

"Perhaps, but the 'Family is more than blood' mentality used in the wrong way is how Kal Skirata was brought into this life, you know. Snatched as a child, indoctrinated…."

"Every kid gets indoctrinated to whatever life they get raised in," Ijaat waved off. "Parents and teachers are obligated to brainwash their kids and students to do whatever they want. And 'child-snatching' is a bit of an archaic way to describe what Mandalorians do. It's more of a lax, loose adoption system we use, like how the Jedi Order used to take in any old kid with signs of Force sensitivity. It's practical and convenient."

"What happened to Falin Mattran was absolutely child-snatching." Ijaat raised an eyebrow at the name. He knew it was who Kal Skirata once was, so Kelborn had hoped for more of a reaction from him. It wouldn't be the first time Kelborn was disappointed by a Skirata. "What else would you call taking a traumatized war orphan, changing his name against his will and forcing him through boot camp, at age six?"

"Indoctrination," Ijaat answered in a slow, patient murmur.

Kelborn glowered into his cup, then sighed and closed his eyes. "There is a fine line between practicality and cynical narcissism, and Mandalorians cross the line into cynical narcissism far more often than the Jedi have." Kelborn drank. "The Jedi ask permission from children's families before taking them away to train, so these children can understand how to control their abilities in a safe environment." Kelborn held up a hand when Ijaat opened his mouth. "They aren't put through boot camps when they're only six years old like Mandalorians, and initiates can leave the Order whenever they like." Names and faces flashed through Kelborn's mind, some with respect and some with regrets.

The tips of Ijaat's lips seemed to curl upward by millimeters, as if reminded of an old joke. "Yeah. Initiates and younglings can leave the Order, leave the only life they've ever known. Forget about all that _osik_ of not being able to express their emotions, and learn how the galaxy really works on their own." He drank again.

"More choice than I ever had," Kelborn mumbled before raising his voice. "And besides, you're misinformed. Most emotions are fine. It's the negative ones that are discouraged. Anger, fear, jealousy, pride; that's what they try to reject." Kelborn saw that Ijaat was about to speak, so he pressed on. "And for good reason. Look at Dooku He was a man who succumbed to anger, and look how dangerous he became. Not to mention Exar Kun, Ulic Qel-Droma, Revan and others before them and after."

"And what are they supposed to do when they get angry about something? When something makes them afraid? When they're made to think they shouldn't love someone because of the risk of losing that love and 'succumbing to the Dark Side'?" Ijaat made a motion with his fingers for emphasis, losing his smile for a moment. "Take a look in the mirror, Kelborn. You've got plenty of anger and sorrow and any number of negative emotions in you. Does that make you a bad man? Not really, because you've learned to control your feelings rather than shun them. You… let's say you _understand_ your emotions, so you can focus and what's worth getting angry about and what's worth wiping your _shebs_ with. Balancing out… self-discipline. Isn't that what Revan ended up doing? Striking out on his own, away from the mainstream Order, and finding balance in the end?"

Kelborn looked down his nose at Ijaat. "I can't break someone's neck with a hand gesture if I lose control. I can't throw people around a room with a thought when I'm angry. What you don't seem to understand is that it's _different_ for them. You, Skirata, and that lapdog ex-Jedi of his seriously underestimate just how strong the pull of the Dark Side can be."

"Speaking from experience? I've got some, too, and Force sensitives can be just as strong and just as vulnerable as the rest of the galaxy. Their powers are derived from empathy, so it's about controlling that empathy. They can't handle the Dark Side?" Ijaat flicked his wrist contemptuously to the side. "Fine, let them go through discount indoctrination on 'serving the Light.' Just don't come crying to me if they damn someone to hell 'cause they decided to go on a self-righteous warpath instead of some galactic conquest… unless you've got credits and a contract ready to haggle." Ijaat's smile returned. "Besides, Dark's just five letters away from Light. As I said, take a look at Revan."

"Revan was a special case," Kelborn dismissed, "and he still had his fair share of death and destruction under his belt. The rule is corruption rather than the exception when it comes to Force users. For instance –"

"A special case? You mean that whole Jedi-brainwashing, making Revan live a lie instead of doing the arguably humane thing of letting Revan die?" For a second, Ijaat seemed to get misty-eyed, blinking repeatedly before resuming eye contact. "And I'll have you know, I'm quite informed about Jedi and Mandalorian topics. I nearly married a historian once."

"What the old Jedi Order did was morally questionable, certainly. But what they did meant that the Sith aren't ruling the Galaxy right now."

Before Ijaat could say something more with that subtle smile of his, Kelborn spoke first. The boy would try to dominate the conversation otherwise, so Kelborn had to take the lead when he could.

"I can tell you plenty about Jedi and Mandalorians firsthand from personal experience. Most Mandalorians I've fought with are too enamored by the meaningless glory in battle, but almost all of the Jedi I've fought alongside with truly exemplify nobility in decent men and women. They were smart, reasonable." Kelborn sighed. "I still can't believe Fett had intended the GAR to exterminate the Jedi Order all this time. It sickens me. If he and the rest of the True Mandalorians weren't so stubborn and prideful, Galidraan wouldn't have been such a disaster."

"Galidraan," Ijaat mumbled, taking another swig of from his drink as he seemed to process the planet's name. "The Galidraan massacre. The Jedi were deceived. Death Watch tricked them, and the Jedi killed almost every last Mandalorian on that planet. Does that sound like decent men and women?"

Kelborn twitched, ever so slightly, before he continued. "Fett was given the option to stand down. He fired first. He gave up any chance of peacefully sorting that mess out." Kelborn stared into the bottom of his bottle. "You're too young to really remember much of Galidraan. I wasn't there, but I know well enough what happened. I lost my brother, and it's because too many of his supposed _vode_ were too brutal and barbaric for their own good. The Jedi could have –"

"The Jedi could have done a lot of things," Ijaat cut him off, still with that small smile of his. "They say that they're peace keepers, but they're pretty willing soldiers, aren't they? They get ordered to deal with the True Mandalorians and follow through without question. Every time the galaxy goes to war, they forget all about that 'there is no chaos, there is harmony' spiel."

"Given the reputation that the Mandalorians have built for themselves, it's entirely understandable that there was no investigation for Galidraan."

"The Jedi Order's always been glorified police officers and advisors for the Galactic Republic," Ijaat commented, looking almost thoughtful for a moment, "and they can't even get that right with an investigation on a _kriffing_ massacre."

"It seemed like an open and shut case," Kelborn repeated firmly. He jumped slightly when Ijaat slammed his palm against the table.

"Don't make excuses." Ijaat didn't hiss like a serpent, but it was close enough. "Jedi and Mandalorians have both done some good and bad, but that's because they had their _reasons_ for doing them. The Jedi didn't put on an investigation because of an 'open and shut case.' It was because they didn't want to get in the way of Galidraan's governor and his political _osik_ the local rebels were causing. If Mandalorians don't get any free passes, neither do the Jedi."

Kelborn narrowed his eyes at his drink. If _Jedi_ was a word Kal Skirata hated and _family_ was one he obsessed over, _excuses_ and _reasons_ were Ijaat's respective counterparts. "Wouldn't have been the first time the Mandalorians have slaughtered civilians anyhow. Do you know of the Ithullan Massacre? And Fett acting like an idiot and firing on the Jedi certainly didn't seem like the actions of an innocent man."

"So, by your definition, a massacre's okay so long as there's karmic retribution involved?" Ijaat might have laughed if wasn't too busy downing another dose of _Kri'gee_. "I don't give a womp rat's _shebs_ about Fett' innocence, and there weren't any civilians that were slaughtered on Galidraan; they were all _soldiers_ in some shape or form. My point is that the Jedi are supposed to be the galaxy's best, and they took out Fett's lot – amoral mercs at the worst – instead of taking out the Death Watch – the guys who were actually into maniacally taking over the galaxy."

Kelborn scoffed. "That's not what I'm saying at all. Karma has nothing to do with this. I'm saying that there's a precedence for this kind of thing in the past."

"A precedent for the Jedi not being thorough enough? Definitely."

"Thorough enough? Practice what you preach, Ijaat. You forget, the Death Watch murdered civilian _children_ of all things and placed the blame on the True Mandalorians. So, it was hardly an unreasonable suggestion on the part of the governor."

"Right, the governor, the one the Force-sensitive Jedi couldn't sense any deception from."

"Fett's foolish stubbornness only made it seem more likely that Fett was indeed guilty."

Ijaat drank again as he unabashedly leaned back on his seat, propping his legs onto their table. He motioned vaguely into the air. "Now that I think about, the Order isn't very consistent as a whole. When the Mandalorian Wars ran rampant, the Jedi were willing to let the Republic burn till Revan and his like got involved. When the Sith came back around, the Jedi stepped up, but then they let themselves demilitarize and become born-again flower children."

After another leisurely gulp of _Kri'gee_ , Ijaat spread his arms in a show of brilliance. "Then we had the Clone Wars, and lo and behold, the Republic wants the people they told to quit having an army to become the commanding officers and generals for a new army." Ijaat clapped his hands. "And now every single Jedi out there is the Republic's – sorry, the _Galactic Empire's_ – most wanted. Oh, how the mighty have fallen."

"You underestimate the worth and capability of the Jedi," Kelborn argued. "They have proven to be commendable leaders when they are called to action, and without the Jedi, casualties during the various wars across history would have been much, much higher. And it wasn't the Jedi's choice to have the Republic disband their military forces. Chancellor Valorum and the Senate decided that, even with high-ranking Jedi such as Master Farfalla being opposed to it. Say that they aren't perfect, but you can't deny their honesty and worth."

"Maybe." Ijaat seemed to sober a small amount, his mouth faltering to a frown. "Maybe. The Republic did win the Clone Wars… but where are the Jedi now, Kelborn? On the run, scattered, in hiding. What use is military leadership who gets stabbed in the back? The only thing the Jedi seem to be consistently good for is to deal with the next Sith crusaders that inevitably step into the galaxy's spotlight."

"The Jedi are 'on the run' because they were unexpectedly betrayed by their own troops." _Damn you, Fett. Damn you._ "It was a surprise to everyone, and such a betrayal has no bearing on their on their abilities as military officers."

A humorless chuckle escaped Ijaat. "Who betrayed who? Didn't you hear about the coup against Chancellor – my mistake, Emperor Palpatine? Rumors say he's a Sith, but the Jedi tried to take out the de facto Republic leader without any support from the Senate. Helluva bad call."

"Palpatine, a Sith?" Kelborn almost guffawed at that claim as Ijaat placed his feet back under the table, each of the men taking in a simultaneous drink. Kelborn finished first, casting disbelieving eyes. "That's an obvious lie. Do you really think the Chancellor could have kept such a thing a secret for so long? While he worked and spoke with Jedi Masters daily?"

"He's got a new enforcer, Darth Vader. He's got a red lightsaber."

"Red lightsabers alone don't make Sith Lords. If anything, he's a Dark Jedi."

"There's a difference? They're both 'Dark,' support the Dark Side of the Force."

Kelborn groaned in frustration, pulling his fingers along his temple. "Yes, there's a difference! The Sith are a separate organization, with their own practices, rituals and hierarchies. Dark Jedi are usually loners, and neither is necessarily a former Jedi. The term Mandalorians use, _dar'jetti_ , is idiotic and nonsensical!"

"And besides," Ijaat went on, ignoring the slighted glare sent his way, "word on the _Mando_ grapevine is that you believe in soldiers being loyal and hardened soldiers, comrades in arms that reliably follow orders. Those troops you mentioned – they were only following orders."

Kelborn huffed his chest in indignation. "I never taught my men to obey unlawful orders, like murdering a superior officer, or children."

"Unlawful, you say." Ijaat held up a single index finger. "But Order 66 was a fully legal and authorized contingency maintained and upheld by the Republic, among all those other rules and regulations, however controversial they may be. Immoral? Yes. Unlawful? You'll have to take that up to the courts."

Kelborn opened his mouth to dispute Ijaat's words, but then closed it to contemplate their conversation thus far. "I didn't come here to argue semantics and linguistics with you. But, I will say this, nothing lawful about killing younglings."

"No, actually, you came here to help the estranged son of a man you hate and pity find that man's MIA adopted sons. Credits probably aren't enough to get you to work with any Skirata, so there has to be other incentive for you. Why are you here?"

Incentive. One of the boy's favorited words. He rarely accepts a job or proposes a deal without _incentive_ for everyone involved. "For one, you aren't Kal Skirata." The two shared another toast before each taking another sip. "And as for why I'm here… I still keep in contact with some old RC squads I trained. I helped them desert, and I'm only here to make sure they get their hands on that anti-aging serum."

"So you know about that, huh? Those Nulls work fast."

The Null ARCs, volatile yet dexterous psychopaths whose loyalties were aligned with a hypocritical ass. "Which reminds me, the information you wanted." Kelborn reached into one of his belt compartments. He slid a datachip across the table. Ijaat caught it and eyed it for a moment. "A team of commandoes recently hit a Wookie village on Kashyyyk. Look through the data. You'll find some leads."

"Much appreciated." Ijaat stored the chip away for later. "Tell me something, Kelborn. You were a part of the _Cuy'val Dar_. Mandalorian or not, a lot of _Cuy'val Dar_ who are still alive still keep in contact with their old commando squads. They care, still do, even though they were training those clones for a literal slave army. Why did you guys never organize a resistance on Kamino?"

"Fett hired me for a job. I do good by my word. Besides," Kelborn drank again, pausing when he distanced the tip away from his lips to quickly reflect upon all those years training unnaturally aging boys to become soldiers, "I… I owed him nothing, but we had an agreement. I needed to follow through."

"Professional of you to keep your word, sticking with the lines in your contract. I can respect that." They shared another toast, content to go back and forth on their differing viewpoints but appreciating the small moments of reconciliation. "There's hope for you yet, old man."

Kelborn sighed tiredly. "I never bought what Fett said about the clone army being made for the Jedi. I assumed that when they were to be deployed, they would be paid, be given homes and financial benefits that come with being in an army."

Ijaat grimaced, shuffling in his seat. "Bit naïve of you, Kelborn. I tried to keep a low profile during the Clone Wars, and even I know that everything pointed to the GAR being property of the Republic. I heard that the Empire's making arrangements for the clones who are still aging faster than normal, but giving them a nice retirement plan isn't much else than a kind afterthought for the more empathetic senators."

"Still, the Republic lacked an army. They had no true military might. Without the clone troopers, the Separatists would have rolled right over them. It was a necessary evil."

A slight tilt of the head and the raise of an eyebrow from Ijaat projected his doubts on Kelborn's position. "Evil's still evil, Kelborn, same way killing's still killing, no matter what the reason for it is. If you wanted to work with 'necessary' evils, might as well have told the Republic to outsource an army from the Hutts, or even from some Mandalorians considering our incredibly bloody history. An army of soldiers of fortune sounds like something more constitutional than a cultivated army of sentient meat bags. Hell, we already had our own army with the Mandalorian Protectors."

Kelborn's eyes hardened. "What makes you think that I have any love for those _di'kutla_ pretenders?"

"You ran with the Mandalorian Supercommandoes, of your own accord. The Protectors claim that they are basically their successors."

"Please, Ijaat." Kelborn felt faintly insulted. "The 'Protectors' were charlatanic ruffians led by an unstable lunatic. During the war, they attacked New Holstice, a hospital planet, and even Kamino to kill countless clones, many of whom were still physically and mentally children. They resemble the Death Watch even more so than the True Mandalorians."

That last comment caught Ijaat's attention. He grew more attentive, fixing his hunched back and narrowed his eyes, motioning for Kelborn to continue.

"Jaster Mereel was the primary reason for why I joined the True Mandalorians," Kelborn elaborated with no shame. "He had a vision to change what it meant to be Mandalorian. That, and he was organized and influential enough to effectively combat the Death Watch. I don't think I have to explain to you just why we had to eliminate them."

Ijaat nodded. "Yeah. The Death Watch were freaks, psychotic. Fit the Mandalorian thug stereotype well…. Though the True Mandalorians never really did eradicate them." He drank another large gulp from his drink, giving Kelborn a sideways glance. "Me and my sister-in-law had a run-in with Death Watch, before the Clone Wars but well after Jango started donating his DNA for the Republic's army. Damn near killed us, and they almost... let's say _persuaded_ my sister to join them. Costed us way too much, just so we could walk away from that whole mess."

It wasn't an accusation, but Kelborn had the urge to explain himself anyway. "Things changed after Jaster died and Fett took over… too many things changed." Ijaat closed his eyes and nodded in acknowledgement to Kelborn's words, relaxing himself before motioning for Kelborn to continue. "Moreover, the Death Watch were a band of delusional thugs who would have would have quickly been wiped out had they tried to attack worlds outside of Mandalorian space, especially with how wary the Republic is over Mandalorian expansionism. The fiasco with the New Mandalorians has hopefully effectively destabilized what remnants of the Death Watch are left."

"Speaking of them, why did you never join up with the New Mandalorians? Peace-loving Mandos sounds like something right up your alley."

The New Mandalorians. Oh, the potential they could have had. "I actually would have signed on with them, if not for the threat of the Death Watch during the Mandalorian Civil War. A change to pacifism may have been necessary. If that meant distancing themselves from their culture, then so be it. Mandalorian culture is toxic," Kelborn ignored Ijaat's snort, "and constantly leads to them being swatted down by the Republic. However, I had to leave Mandalorian Space after Galidraan. I had a family to look after."

"You do remember the lack of a decent military in New Mandalore, hence that Death Watch and crime syndicate takeover?" Ijaat shook his head left and right in incredulity. "Not wanting to start up fights is one thing, but not being able to defend yourselves is another." Drink in hand, Ijaat raised it and pointed two fingers toward Kelborn. "Still, the New Mandalorians might have had the right idea with modernizing Mandalore. It almost looked like a non-polluted Coruscant with some Naboo architecture mixed in. If they had actually succeeded with all that peace-talk, I might have wanted to retire there." Ijaat drank before snapping his fingers back to Kelborn, struck with sudden inspiration. "Hey, if they ever do recover from that business with the Death Watch, maybe you should retire there, too, get back to your roots."

Kelborn shrugged. "My roots? I'd rather forget my roots to be honest. As for retirement," the thought of it stung harder than he expected, "maybe, one day. I still have my family to look after. Retirement – I haven't thought about retirement in a long time. It's always just been one thing after the other…."

"Hah! Ain't that the story of life. Never any rest for the wicked…."

Kelborn and Ijaat shared a moment of silence, saying nothing as they stared mindlessly into their drinks. The soft sounds of the other patrons' drunken speech were the only things they could hear.

Kelborn found Ijaat to be, at times, frustratingly similar to Skirata.

Eventually, Ijaat spoke up with a single question. "How did you become a Mandalorian?"

This discussion was turning more personal than Kelborn had intended. He was probably drunker than he had intended. "I was born into it," Kelborn answered, sighing with even more exhaustion. "I'm not one any longer. I've been _dar'manda_ since I left, after what happened on Concord Dawn. Since then, I only wear the armor when I'm… hunting, and when I was a _Cuy'val Dar_ on Kamino. Now though… now I don't think I'll ever wear it again."

"I see… so you hated _Mando_ culture, yet you've kept the armor and thus a part of the culture still with you for all these years…."

The boy may very well get himself killed one day with these petty jabs. Even Kelborn knows when to keep his trap shut. "My eldest brother was killed during one of the many trials and tests our _father_ ," Kelborn spat the word, "gave us to gauge our battle skills. My second-eldest was crippled during one of his. I've lost too many friends who were taken by their fathers into battlefields to count. Things piled on and on, and I vowed that I would never expose my own children to such horrible, Mandalorian practices." Though, that plan hasn't worked out so well, but Ijaat didn't need to hear the details. "Fathers are supposed to protect their children, not murder them."

"Ideal fathers, you mean." Ijaat no longer smiled or frowned, no longer keeping up an attitude of morbid mockery or smartass comments. His lips were suspended in a thin line as he spoke in a quiet tone. "Fair enough…. Fair enough"

"Yes…" Curiosity got the better of Kelborn. "How did you become a Mandalorian?"

"Well," Ijaat coughed into his hand, a sign of hesitation in the boy, but he went on. "You know how Kal Skirata had to leave me and my family, after a rather tragic divorce?"

Kelborn nodded in some understanding with Ijaat's position. "I heard. My sympathies to Illipi. No parent should bring a child into a battlefield–"

"You never knew her," Ijaat interrupted, his pitch rising somewhat before lowering again, "and you've never met her, so save your sympathies for someone else."

She was an icy topic for Ijaat. Very well.

"Eventually," Ijaat continued, "everyone in my family drifted apart, even me and Ruu. For a while, all I had was myself and my sister-in-law, Tamara. Then a Mandalorian crew – probably Death Watch, maybe not, whatever – kidnapped her, and nearly killed me. I tracked them down, hothead as I was back then. I killed them, killed them all, made sure Tamara was safe. But... But then…"

Ijaat finished the rest of his drink in one, slow gulp. He placed the bottle on the table with a stutter, exhaling a sigh that made Kelborn feel older than he actually was.

"I've been _poor_ , Kelborn. When the Old Republic still ran things, when Tamara and I were barely out of our teens, we practically had to lie and steal and murder any and every stranger we came across to survive. We got stabbed in the back, and we beat and brutalized them in return, virtually on a daily basis. We were at a point where we were considering selling ourselves to slavery because the _kriffing_ pimps and slavers protected their own better than the government's _shabla_ welfare system."

Kelborn had no shame in letting his eyes get wet in his more emotional moments. Ijaat was still young, young and ambitious and out to prove something. He held back his own tears, electing instead to close his eyes.

"When Tamara was captive and I was looking for her, we learned more about the galaxy. How big it is. How sick it is. How much… let's say _potential_ there is in it." Ijaat opened his eyes and maintained eye contact with Kelborn, hard and forced but without any indignity. "We were good killers, and plenty in the galaxy offered an _abundance_ of creds for good killers. So we became Mandalorian mercs, because as much as immoral and violent and bloody as the job is, we were used to those kind of things, and we would never have to be that desperate to just _survive_. Now, we can actually _live_."

Another quiet, somber silent filled the air, the two men trying to recompose themselves as they inaudibly gauged for the other's thoughts on their life stories.

Kelborn spoke first, careful and steady. "I can understand the allure of a job with security and a well-paid paycheck. My family and I have gone through our own rough patches, but never to the extent yours have." He nodded his head forward, still meeting Ijaat's eyes. "I am sorry... though," and Kelborn _had_ to ask, "I am very curious why you decided to become and remain a Mandalorian specifically when there are plenty of other merc bands out there." And plenty of merc bands are just as immoral and violent and bloody as any Mandalorian gang.

A grin broke out from Ijaat, the same one from earlier. He tapped his fists against his chest. "I wear Mandalorian armor for the good specs and for the rep us _Mandos_ get. Some of my best friends are Mandalorians nowadays, too. Ruu's still my sister, but Clan Vencuyot is my family now, and being a part of that family means the same thing as being a Mandalorian. To them, and to me."

Of course. Ijaat and Kelborn still saw and define Mandalorians quite differently. "Yes, I've met them. A tad eccentric and not all of them right in the head, but even I still have some friends who are still Mandalorians. It's just the culture as a whole and its history that I loathe. Those cut from the same cloth as Kal Skirata and Walon Vau honestly disgust me. And, from what I've seen, that's the majority of them." Kelborn pitied Kal. He couldn't help himself. He also pitied Ijaat a little, too, but he chose this life. He had a thousand more choices than his father probably did at his age.

"I can understand that," Ijaat concedes. "To most of the galaxy, and even to you, Mandalorians are just killers and marauders, and a lot of them are. But we all have our friends who happen to be in the wrong places. That doesn't change the fact that they're still friends and family. The ones that have done right by you, you gotta do right by them."

Kelborn imagined a world where more Mandalorians focused on loyalties and friendships rather than demented delusions of grandeur. He tossed the idea aside almost immediately, overwhelmed with how he sees the Mandalorians in reality. The two pictures had too many differences. He'd doubt Mandalorians would ever renounce their violent tendencies as a whole and find peace, even if a _Mand'alor_ like Jaster came back into power. Traitors and corruption seeped into things far too easily.

"If Clan Vencuyot wasn't Mandalorian, I'd still run with them," Ijaat remarked, unaware of Kelborn's wandering thoughts. "You don't have to be Mandalorian or _dar'manda_. Any decent folk can understand that family is worth the blood. Even you."

Worth the blood…. Yes. Yes, family is worth killing for, and dying for. If only Kelborn had figured out when to kill and who had to die for his family to have survived together.

"Hate Mandalorians all you want, Kelborn," Ijaat said, bringing the elder man out of his musing, "and hate my way of life till my ears bleed, but you've always been honest and played straight by me. Thank you."

Kelborn nodded in simple acknowledgment. "And thank you, for indulging an old man with too much time on his hands and a lifetime's worth of ranting left in me."

The pair shared an alcohol-induced laugh. They were both drunk at this point, but still sober enough to find their ways home, at least.

Ijaat rose from his seat, tossing Kelborn a patchild of credit chits. "Thanks for the talk, and the intel. You my friend are the second most bitter, stubborn old man I've ever met who desperately needs to retire. If you ever run into a Roly Melusar, have a chat with him. You two can talk politics till you're both finally old and senile."

Roly Melusar. That name sounded familiar.

"I'll contact you with an update within the next six months. In the meantime, go buy Resvi something nice. Give her my regards."

With that, Ijaat went on his way, leaving Kelborn to his thoughts.

* * *

Co-written with author, JKrlin, who honestly wrote most of this. I provided Kelborn's dialogue and little else. Be sure to read his story, Bleeding Hearts, as Ijaat Skirata features heavily in that and this will make a lot more sense if you see it.


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